


Anniversary

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Marks [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the Anniversary challenge on the LJ Comm story_works. Ronon and Evan's one-year anniversary.





	

“Come again?” Ronon glanced at Evan.  
  
They were walking side-by-side across a rolling green meadow. John was up front, taking point and also keeping an eye on Rodney, who was studying his scanner intently. Teyla was hanging back with the rest of Lorne’s team, watching their six.  
  
“Tomorrow is our designated Sunday,” Evan said again.  
  
Ronon furrowed his brow. “I thought you and John couldn’t have the same designated Sunday.”  
  
“Colonel Sheppard likes to let the other majors stretch their wings once in a while,” Evan said. “So I swapped with Toriel. He owes me. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, you should meet me in the jumper bay at seventeen-hundred.”  
  
Ronon eyed Evan for a long moment, then nodded. Whatever Evan was up to, Ronon was sure he’d enjoy it. Every one of Evan’s random excursions had been fun, weird moment with tiramisu aside (he still didn’t like the stuff on his own, but Evan was guaranteed to get kissed breathless after every mouthful).  
  
Tomorrow. Jumper bay. Seventeen-hundred. Evan hadn’t told Ronon to bring anything, which meant he’d be handling all the preparations himself. Ronon just had to be there.  
  
Till then, he’d focus on the mission.  
  


*

  
  
Sure enough, when Ronon arrived in the jumper bay at seventeen-hundred promptly the next evening, Evan was waiting beside Jumper Three (his favorite jumper, nicknamed Delilah). He was dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a blue shirt that made his eyes even bluer.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
Ronon nodded. He followed Evan into the jumper and saw that Evan had a basket and some other supplies tied down behind the pilot seats.  
  
Evan spoke to Chuck in Control, who cleared them for take-off.  
  
It would never not be odd, to see and know that the jumper was moving but to not feel it. Inertial dampeners had been science fiction on Sateda.  
  
“You know,” Evan said, “I don’t know your birthday.”  
  
Ronon blinked. “Birthday?”  
  
“You know, the day of the year you were born. My birthday is July 22. Doesn’t mean much out here, since Earth and Lantea’s calendars don’t really match up.” Evan guided the jumper up and around Atlantis, then headed for the mainland.  
  
“I know what a birthday is,” Ronon said. “We celebrated Elizabeth’s. I just - don’t know mine.”  
  
Evan blinked. “Do they not have calendars on Sateda?”  
  
“They do, but individual birthdays aren’t a thing.”  
  
“Then how do you know how old you are?”  
  
“Summers,” Ronon said. “However many summers we’ve lived. That’s how old we are. Every summer we have our yearling festival - all of us who’ve lived the same number of summers are celebrated. But to have celebrations all year round? That would be exhausting.”  
  
Evan laughed. “Not every birthday is like Elizabeth’s. Apart from the major birthdays on Earth - one, ten, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, and then every decade after that - we don’t usually go all out. A few friends, dinner or drinks. Gifts only from our closest friends and family, if at all.”  
  
Earth was so strange. “Why do people give _you_ gifts?”  
  
Evan looked as puzzled as Ronon felt. “Because it’s _my_ birthday?”  
  
“So you don’t thank them for helping sustain your life over the previous year?”  
  
“...No, but now that you mention it, that does seem counterintuitive, and pretty ungrateful.”  
  
“So you never get gifts for your parents?”  
  
“Well, on their birthdays, and also Mother’s Day and Father’s Day.”  
  
“How do you get anything done, if you have so many holidays and celebrations?”  
  
“Like I said, most holidays aren’t as huge a deal as Elizabeth’s birthday. For Mother’s Day I’d make a card and a gift for my mom and grandma, and my sister and I would cook dinner - once we were old enough - and, you know, treat them extra-special for a day.”  
  
“Why such focus on specific days?” Ronon eyed Evan.  
  
Evan’s hands on the controls were calm, confident. He’d been a pilot back on Earth, Ronon knew. “I honestly don’t know. Must just be an Earth culture thing. Maybe an anthropologist can tell you.”  
  
And then Ronon had a sneaking suspicion. “What’s today?”  
  
“It’s our one-year anniversary.”  
  
Ronon mulled this over. The mainland was fast coming into view, pale beach and dark cliffs. “I’ve known you longer than a year.”  
  
Evan glanced at him. “Yeah, but it’s been a year since the first time you told me you love me.”  
  
“How can you remember such a thing?”  
  
“Well, I have been known to write important things down,” Evan said dryly.  
  
“Wait, like a diary? John says only girls keep diaries.”  
  
Evan rolled his eyes, and the jumper started to descend. “No, I don’t keep a diary per se. But sometimes I write important notes in my sketchbook.”  
  
Ronon smirked. “You mean you have special drawings to commemorate important moments?”  
  
“Okay, maybe I do. What’s wrong with that?”  
  
“I hear your people take a lot of photographs.”  
  
Evan shrugged. “When I do a drawing it’s more - meditative. Forces me to reflect longer.” Then he eyed Ronon. “Like you don’t remember the first time I told you I love you.”  
  
For a soldier, Evan was very open about his feelings - when he wasn’t on duty, of course. He’d said it months before Ronon had.  
  
“I do,” Ronon admitted. He still wasn’t sure why he’d taken so long to say it back. Probably because saying it back meant he was staying, was part of Atlantis, would never go home.  
  
The jumper touched down on pristine white sand, and Evan powered down the engines.  
  
“Are anniversaries a big deal on Earth?” Ronon asked.  
  
“They’re kind of like Valentine’s Day,” Evan said. “For specific couples. Celebrating when they fully came together.”  
  
From what Ronon knew of Valentine’s Day (and mostly Rodney fretting about it in relation to John), treating someone extra-special just one day a year seemed silly, especially since it was less about treating the other person special and more about some kind of huge display. He wasn’t sure why Evan felt the need to do something extra-special, because he always did nice things for Ronon, like make him spice puffs or gave him neck rubs.  
  
“How come you picked the day I told you I love you? Why not an earlier day, like the first time we kissed or had sex?”  
  
Evan lifted a hand to his neck, where he kept his Soul Mark hidden by his silly little scarf. “I know Marks are really uncommon Sateda. Having a Match is a huge deal on Earth, and I - never came close. And then you came along, with your rank tattoo. I wanted to be sure that this thing between us was actually between us and not because of what was on our skin.”  
  
“And you were sure when I told you I loved you?”  
  
“Yeah.” Evan opened the rear hatch and stood up, unfastened the basket and supplies from behind his chair.  
  
There was something ridiculously thrilling about making the first footsteps in sand or snow. Ronon scooped up the supplies from Evan - Evan was perfectly capable of carrying the basket and pack himself, but Ronon had been raised right - and then he set off across the sand.  
  
After several steps, he realized he was alone, and he saw that Evan had removed his shoes, carried them in one hand as he strolled along behind. The breeze off the ocean ruffled his hair. He looked - serene. Beautiful.  
  
“Any place in particular you want to go?” Ronon asked.  
  
“I flew recon over this stretch of beach a couple of weeks back,” Evan said. “There’s a bit of a cove about half a mile down, sheltered from the wind. We can build a fire, spread out the blankets.”  
  
Ronon nodded and slowed his pace so Evan could catch up. He shifted the basket and pack to his other hand, then reached out and tangled his fingers with Evan’s, squeezed. Evan smiled up at him, and Ronon couldn’t help it - he leaned down and kissed Evan briefly on the mouth.  
  
Ronon glanced over his shoulder and admired the two sets of footprints on the otherwise pristine white sand. Evan had, wisely, closed the jumper hatch against the breeze and the sand.  
  
For all that Evan was more open with his emotions than pretty much any other soldier on base, he wasn’t like some of the scientists or younger Marines who felt the need to fill every silence with idle chatter. He walked beside Ronon, and that was enough.  
  
They reached the cove in decent time, having taken a leisurely pace. Ronon set down the basket and let Evan handle the rest - a blanket for them to sit on, and supplies to build a little fire. Inside the basket was food, a bottle of wine, and two glasses. Ronon built the fire while Evan laid out the food. By the time the fire was lit and the food was ready, the sun had started to slip below the horizon.  
  
In addition to the food and wine and fire, Evan had brought a series of tiny candles that he set in the sand all around the blanket and lit.  
  
In the soft light, his skin glowed golden, and the lines and angles of his face were softened. Everything was muted, peaceful. Now Ronon understood why Evan chose to draw some moments to capture them. Ronon itched for paper and a pen. If he could capture the candlelight on Evan’s clothes, the way the firelight flickered over his skin, it would be like holding this moment in his hands.  
  
“Most celebrations on Earth are the same - special food, a gathering of people, some gifts,” Evan said. “The details vary, but the important parts are the same.”  
  
“As on Sateda,” Ronon agreed.  
  
Evan smiled. “So, Ronon Dex, welcome to your one-year anniversary. There are rules on Earth, about the type of gifts that should be given for each year, increasing in value as the years progress, but no one really follows them anyway.” He popped open the wine bottle and set it in a little bucket of ice to _let it breathe_ , whatever that meant (Ronon had seen it in movies, too).  
  
“I didn’t get you anything,” Ronon said. In his defense, he hadn’t known it was their anniversary. Did one person just pick it and the other went along? Or could they each pick an anniversary? That would increase the number of celebrations, which could be both good and bad.  
  
“You didn’t have to. Mostly I just wanted the two of us to have some special time together. So, let’s eat.”  
  
Evan had, to the best of his ability, recreated the Satedan meal traditionally served during fall harvest celebrations. Ronon swallowed hard. He hadn’t had this meal in eight years, had lost track of when harvests would be on Sateda because the different planets he’d run to had always been in different seasons and times for the brief moments when he was on there. He’d kept a vague tally of days, so he knew he had been Running for about seven years, but -  
  
Ronon took the first bite, and he closed his eyes. “How -?”  
  
“Teyla mentioned that you’d run into some or other of your people while off-world soon after you joined the expedition. I’ve been in contact with them, when I can.”  
  
“To learn about me?”  
  
“About Sateda, mostly. I don’t think many - if any - of them knew you personally.” Evan shrugged. “It only seemed fair, since Sheppard’s been pretty diehard about teaching you and Teyla about Earth.”  
  
“Thank you,” Ronon said, and added, “it’s delicious.”  
  
Evan smiled. “Good, because I’ve never had it before, and it’s hard to taste-test something when you’re not sure how it’s supposed to taste. After all, what tastes good to me doesn’t always taste good to you.” And he scooped up his fork and dug in.  
  
While they ate, Ronon told Evan about the yearling summer celebration, not just the festivities but the gifts he’d made for his grandfather and other people he’d felt helped guide him along the path to adulthood. Evan listened earnestly. The way his face lit up when Ronon described how he’d written and illustrated a poem made Ronon sit up a little straighter, take notice.  
  
He could, perhaps, give Evan an anniversary gift after all.  
  
Halfway through the meal, Evan declared the wine ready, and he poured a glass for each of them.  
  
“Traditionally,” Evan said, “this is the part where we’d raise a toast.”  
  
“A toast to what?” Ronon understood the tradition vaguely, pay honor to someone or something, and then have a drink.  
  
“To us. To everything we’ve been through together, and to many more years together.”  
  
Ronon raised his glass of wine. “All right. To us.” And he drank.  
  
Evan sipped more delicately at his wine, set the glass aside. “Now for your real gift.”  
  
“My real gift? You mean dinner and an evening alone under the stars isn’t a gift?”  
  
“Well, it’s part of the gift,” Evan admitted. “But I have one less fleeting on offer.”  
  
Ronon reached out, curved his hand over Evan’s hip. “I can make tonight last forever.”  
  
Heat flared in Evan’s gaze, and he smiled. “Well, that was part of the plan, too, hence the blanket.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a piece of paper, unfolded it. It was a drawing, a complicated sigil of some sort. Ronon accepted it, puzzled, and he realized it was a delicate combination of the Atlantis Expedition patch - a stylized flying transport beast - and the symbol from Ronon’s unit with the Satedan Planetary Defense Forces.  
  
“I was thinking,” Evan said, “I could get this tattooed low on my hip, where only you get to see. You could get yours, well, wherever you wanted. I think it would look interesting, on one of your shoulderblades. Like an angel’s wing.”  
  
And Ronon realized. “This would be our Mark. Our shared Mark.”  
  
Evan nodded.  
  
Ronon yanked Evan into a kiss. He pulled back when they both needed air, and he grinned fiercely. “Let’s do it. Tonight.”  
  
“I’d hoped you’d say that,” Evan said. “I brought a tattoo gun.”  
  
“But first,” Ronon said, “I need to see your skin. All of it. To make sure we put it in just the right spot.” He slid his hands up under Evan’s shirt for emphasis.  
  
Evan smiled. “You’re absolutely right. A good artist always inspects the canvas before he puts down a single stroke of paint.”  
  
Ronon leaned in, nibbled at Evan’s throat, made him gasp. “Gonna take a lot more than one stroke.”  
  
Evan laughed softly, curled his hand at the nape of Ronon’s neck, encouraging him. “I’m holding you to that.”  
  
“Gonna hold you all night long,” Ronon promised, and he lowered Evan to the blanket.  
  
They spent hours on the blanket together, making love under the stars, licking wine off each other’s skin, studying and caressing and kissing, until finally they were both ready, both sure. They would both have their shared Mark again in the same spot, low on their right hips, a counterpoint to their Marks on the left sides of their necks.  
  
Ronon stretched himself out on the blanket, bare and vulnerable to the night air, while Evan knelt beside him, just as nude, and fired up the tattoo gun.  
  
Ronon closed his eyes and lost himself in the pain-pleasure, only came out of it when the tattoo gun went silent and Evan ghosted a kiss over the heated flesh at his hip. Because Evan was Evan, he’d brought disinfectant, lotion, and gauze to cover the brand new tattoo, but he let Ronon inspect it before he covered it over.  
  
Then it was Evan’s turn. He changed out the needle on the gun for a new, sterile one, swabbed the skin with an alcohol wipe, and then he laid back. He didn’t close his eyes, watched Ronon the entire time. Ronon was glad his hands were steady, because the intensity in Evan’s gaze was electrifying.  
  
As soon as it was done, Evan pulled Ronon into a grateful kiss, and then he showed Ronon how to bandage the tattoo, and then they slept, side-by-side, while the fire burned low.  
  
They flew back to Atlantis the next morning and returned to their duties, no one else the wiser for their anniversary or their new, shared bond (everyone assumed they’d just gone on a date). But Ronon knew, and Evan knew, and sometimes, when they were out in public, Ronon would curl a hand around Evan’s hip, and Evan would smile, and Ronon knew that wherever Evan was, there was home.


End file.
